


The Difference Between Tempting and Choosing My Fate

by LeftHandOfSnarkness



Series: I'm not drowning I'm just seeing how long I can stay down [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Diego Hargreeves, Bisexual Frank Castle, M/M, Vigilantes in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHandOfSnarkness/pseuds/LeftHandOfSnarkness
Summary: Diego Hargreeves isn't the only vigilante in the city.-or-Diego Hargreeves isn't used to people calling him pretty.
Relationships: Frank Castle & Diego Hargreeves, Frank Castle/ Diego Hargreeves
Series: I'm not drowning I'm just seeing how long I can stay down [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909315
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	The Difference Between Tempting and Choosing My Fate

**Author's Note:**

> For this one I kind of just assumed that the Umbrella Academy is in NYC. When is this set? Who knows. 
> 
> Title comes from the recently departed Justin Townes Earle's song "Harlem River Blues," which is a great song.

It doesn't happen the way Diego thought it would -and if he's being honest with himself, he's thought about it kind of a lot. Maybe more than is normal. Although he doesn't know how much the concept of normal even applies to men like them. But he always figured that if it happened, they'd be fighting. Not like they had that first time, when they were actually trying to hurt each other, *kill* each other, but in one of their more friendly fights. They have them, sometimes, just to keep each other sharp. They'd use Al's ring late at night, long after the place is closed, pretending like it's just a regular boxing match and they are just regular people who need a workout. So he figured if it would happen, it would happen in the ring. Blood up, shirts off, bare feet bouncing lightly on the canvas as they circled each other. He imagined that one of them would finally get an advantage- maybe he'd hit Frank hard enough to knock him off balance, or Frank would do that move where he hooked his foot around Diego's ankle and used his weight to send them both slamming down to the ground, that they'd grapple for dominance and then--

But that isn't how it happens. How it happens is like this. 

They are at Frank's place (well, the place Frank lives, since Diego is never quite sure if he pays rent, or is squatting, or intimidated the landlord into letting him live there), which is the only living arrangement Diego has ever seen that is shittier than his own outside of a literal opium den. For once, they are both tired of fighting, both think they've done enough vigilante work in the past 24 hours to merit a little time off to recover before they hit the streets again. So they are sitting on Frank's bed, because it is the only place *to* sit, backs against the wall, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth between the two of them. Frank actually looks almost relaxed, slouched inelegantly on the blanket, the hem of his Henley riding up a little as he uses the bottle to gesture back and forth as he talks. He's handsome, Diego thinks, not for the first time. He's not beautiful, not the way Eudora is, or even the way the guys on TV are. He is striking- all sharp angles and bones that have obviously been broken before, intense eyes and lips that are always either split open or scarring over.  
"You even listen' to me, here?" he asks, and Diego takes a second to revel in the sound of his voice- smooth honey poured over broken glass- before he responds  
"No, I'm not, you're boring the shit out of me, man," and Frank grins as Diego snatches the bottle out of his hands and takes a long swig. He likes the way it burns, knife-sharp. He's going to take another swig when Frank grabs it back from him, tilts back his head and drinks until there is barely more than a half inch left in the bottle.  
"Asshole," he mutters, and Frank laughs again. "Give me the last sip," he says, but Frank tosses the bottle into his other hand, stretching his arm out to hold it out of reach. "You are being a really shitty host, you know," Diego grumbles "give me the fucking bottle," he says, reaching for it. Frank's other hand comes up and grabs the front of his shirt- not enough to be perceived as a real threat (they'd both learned *that* lesson the hard way), just enough to tug Diego down to eye level with him, bottle still out of reach.  
"Ask me nicely, pretty boy," he says, and Diego can't help it, he laughs in his face. Because no one has ever called Diego "pretty" before, and Frank must've taken one too many hits to the head, finally.  
"You need to get your fucking eyes checked," he says, still chuckling, but he realizes almost immediately that is the wrong thing to say. Frank's grip on his shirt tightens, his fist coming up under Diego's chin, and the amusement is gone from his face. Up this close, Diego can see that he looks *pissed*.  
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Frank spits, teeth bared, and Diego holds up his hands in the 'I surrender' gesture even though he means he is mostly off-balance, because he knows Frank doesn't like it when people imply that there is something wrong with him, and even Diego can only push that so far.  
"Shit, Castle, I was just kidding. You've got great eyesight. Best eyes a guy could ask for," he jokes, but nothing in Frank's expression changes.  
"You think I'm a liar, Hargreeves?" He asks, his voice impossibly cold.  
"What?!"  
"Do you think I'm a liar, pretty boy?" he says, every word quiet and clear. Diego has well and truly lost the thread of this conversation.  
"Quit c-calling me that," Diego snaps, and he can feel his cheeks heating, feel himself start to trip over his words. Frank brings the bottle up to his own lips and drinks the last of the whiskey. Asshole.  
"You do." he says, "You think I fucking lie," and really, by now, Diego should have learned not to underestimate Frank, because it never ends well for him, but somehow he always forgets just how *quickly* the other man can move when he wants to. With one push he sends Diego backwards onto the bed, landing on top of him with one hand still gripping his shirt, and for the life of him Diego can't read the expression on his face. He hears a soft "clink" as Frank sets the bottle down on the chipped linoleum by the bed before putting his elbow on the bed near Diego's head, using it to help support his weight. Diego wonders if Frank is no-shit going to try to murder him. But instead Frank drops his head down, so that his mouth is inches away from Diego's ear and says,  
"What's wrong Diego," and he tries not to shudder at the sound of his name, because he's not all that used to hearing Frank say it, not like that "doesn't anyone ever tell you that you're pretty?" He can barely hear the words over the pounding of blood in his ears, and if Frank doesn't get off of him right the fuck now things are going to get *very* awkward very fast, so he does the only thing he can think of, and presses down on the foot not currently trapped under the weight of a serial killer and tries to push Frank off of him. And Frank fucking laughs, because of course he is always one step ahead of him, and Diego can *feel* the laugh vibrating in Frank's chest, can feel the puffs of air against his neck, the tap-tap-tap of a trigger finger on the mattress next to his head. Frank isn't going to have to kill him, because he is going to die of embarrassment, first.  
"Well," Frank says, when he finally stops laughing, "I think you are pretty," and before Diego's whiskey- and adrenaline- addled brain can even process what is being said, Frank bites down on the sensitive skin of Diego's ear, and he loses the capacity for rational thought all together. "Real pretty," Frank says, dragging his lips down Diego's neck, letting go of his shirt to spread his fingers across tanned collarbones, and it's a good thing Diego doesn't technically need to breathe, because his body doesn't seem to be capable of it right now, anyway. "Yeah," and when Frank's lips finally press against his, something clicks into place in his chest. He manages to wrestle one arm away from his side and slide it under the thin grey fabric of Frank's shirt, traces his fingers over the vast expanse of skin he finds there, smooth and impossibly warm and littered with scars, and when Frank licks his way into his mouth he drags his blunted fingernails down the the other man's back and swallows down the growl that comes from deep in the back of Castle's throat. He had plans for the evening, ones that involved masks and shadows and probably getting more scars, but fuck it, he thinks as Frank slides his hand down his chest and palms his already-hard cock through his jeans, the city will just have to take care of itself for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> I really considered making the summery of this "Diego gets him a big titty goth BF," so you all should admire my restraint.


End file.
